


Obi-Wan takes his Clothes off Briefly for a Mission

by Alec_Brimstone5381



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff and Angst, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:55:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28841262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alec_Brimstone5381/pseuds/Alec_Brimstone5381
Summary: Anakin had always imagined that Obi-wan was somewhat soft under all those robes.That vague pondering, Anakin now realised, was not true.Or, Obi-Wan strips, Anakin has new feelings to add to his already excessive heap, -and is Obi-Wan really as old as he says he is?
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 51
Kudos: 380





	1. Chapter 1

Anakin had always imagined that Obi-wan was somewhat _soft_ under all those robes. Certainly built-enough, for sure! No one who saw the man move in battle could possibly suggest he had anything other than a strong, solid core and the agility of a Loth-cat; but Anakin had always just assumed, in a vague, passing way of course (it was not something he dwelled upon often), that underneath his beard, cloak and the countless other garments the man deemed it necessary to wear, he carried a little weight.

That vague pondering, Anakin now realised, was not true.

Obi-wan dropped the last of his tunics onto the floor of the cramped droid Recharge-bay they were hiding in with a quiet thump and hissed at Anakin.

“The backup plan, Anakin! Pass me the bag.”

“Uhh…” Let out Anakin dumbly, his eyes currently transfixed on the vast display of lean, pale skin and freckles. Then, Obi-wan pulled down his loose trousers and Anakin was faced with an entirely new distraction: legs. And Obi-wan’s arse, which was round and pert and perfectly formed in simple close-fitting, black underwear.

“Anakin! If the population is unwilling to compromise with the Jedi order, then we _must_ take a secondary chance with a more civilian approach!”

“Mmmhm…”

“The bag Anakin, they’ll suspect something if we dawdle too long.”

Anakin wordlessly handed the small supply kit over, which slipped through his hands in his distraction. Obi-wan cursed as he lent over to pluck it up off the metal grating, which, well… It satisfied a deep longing in Anakin that he had not even known he harboured until a scant minute ago.

As Obi-wan shrugged something black and slinky over his chest, the humming which had filled his ears faded out slightly, and Anakin was able to think more clearly.

“But Obi-wan,” he began, “You were with me in the hall just now- they’ll recognise you.”

Obi-wan sighed with a practised kind of dissatisfaction (the kind he’d perfected, due to having Anakin as his Padawan for years), even as he struggled to strap a series of garish decorative ribbons to his chest. Anakin took a moment to appreciate the man’s ability to multitask so expertly.

“Do you _ever_ even glance at the mission brief anymore, dear padawan?”

“That would be _Knight Skywalker_ to you, General Kenobi,” grumbled Anakin, snapping to attention, yet not _really_ annoyed. Their careless banter had become too ingrained in their communication for either of them to be fooled by the harsh words any longer. “And I knew there’d be a possibility the locals would be uncooperative, considering their more… unorthodox view of the force.”

“Now, Anakin, to them our views seem the uncivilised ones.”

Obi-Wan pulled a pocket-sized, silver device out of the now-empty satchel, and it began to make a low buzzing noise, but since Obi-wan’s back was turned, Anakin couldn’t see what he was doing. He huffed impatiently, trying to shift out of the way as the other Jedi kicked the bag across the floor towards him. Instead, he whacked his head on a low hanging pipeline, and for a fleeting moment (only fleeting) felt jealous of his old master’s rather small stature.

“That still does not answer my question, Obi-wan.”

“It’s like this,” huffed Obi-Wan “Could you tell any of the Uzo apart today?”

“Well, I suppose if I put my mind to it- I believe the priest had a yellow-er shade of fur?”

“And if their fur and their clothes and whatnot were identical?”

“Then no.” admitted Anakin, wondering if that made him seem insensitive, “I suppose they feel the same way about us?”

“That _is_ the plan, should it work.” finished Obi-wan. He spun round to face Anakin.

“And I doubt even you would recognise me at first glance like this?”

Anakin gaped.

“You just shaved your beard off!” he exclaimed, dumbfounded. So that’s what the silver buzzy thing was! He couldn’t help but step closer in the small space, peering down to stare more avidly at the clean-shaven jaw.

He reached a hand up tentatively, and brushed his thumb along the bare skin, the small dimple in his chin. And if he hadn’t already been captivated by the sudden, recent, realization that Obi-wan had a stunning body, this would have been the screw in the spaceship. Kriffing hells. That dimple.

“Anakin?” came a stuttered voice, and Anakin abruptly realised he was basically caressing his ex-master’s face. He whipped his hand back, his face flushing.

“Apologies, master.”

In the low lighting of the recharge bay, a fluorescent beam overhead illuminated the soft outline of Obi-wan’s face, and Anakin realised not only were his cheeks coloured a pretty pink, but there was also a significant lack of wrinkles on his face. Anakin frowned.

“We need to go, now.” said Obi-wan, shattering the silence, and they were back to business, leaving the closet after a quick glance in both directions.


	2. Chapter 2

“Quis est iste puer autem qui in conspectu meo?” demanded the Uzo before them. C3PO, on loan from Padme, translated,

“The esteemed leader of this planet demands to know why this child has been brought before him,”

Child? Frowned Anakin, glancing to his side to look at Obi-Wan. He certainly looked young without his beard, and the black clothes, as opposed to the tan and brown he usually donned, brought out the pale, porcelain tones of his skin; his hair like a fiery flame atop the dark fabrics. But surely the Uzo were exaggerating for the sake of spite.

“Ego arbitror a quo puer alicuius servitut…”

“His highness supposes he is unused to the customs of your lands.”

“Wait, hang on a minute,” interrupted Anakin, “I know that word! Servit… Sevitut!”

_Slavery._

He lunged towards the Uzo, aiming to scorch the smug look off his furry face, lightsabre hilt already in hand.

“Anakin!” barked Obi-Wan, and yanked him back by his collar, “Calm yourself!”

“He called us slave traders Obi-Wan!” fumed Anakin, struggling against his master’s firm grip. “How dare they!” he seethed.

“Oh dear,” stuttered C3PO “Part of my protocol instructs to prevent unnecessary conflict, it seems my programming has failed us.”

“Repeat what he said word for word, C3PO.” Anakin said with a growl. “No editing.”

“That will be completely unnecessary,” snapped Obi-Wan. Then, turning to the fumbling droid, “Can you please inform his highness that I am a delegate of the Stewjoni system, and have come here to talk to this system on behalf of the republic. My greatest apologies for the earlier misunderstandings when my two guards were sent as a precaution first.”

The Uzo seemed to calm after C3PO had translated, and the leader settled back into his throne. In fact it was less of a throne, and more of a lounge, in order to accommodate their race’s feline shapes. He stretched out onto the bench and twitched his ears,

“Quod amicum tuum furtum facies?”

“He says, and I quote exactly now, oh dear, ‘What of your fur-faced friend?’,”

Anakin watched as Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. Well, they seemed to have pulled it off without too much suspicion.

“He has retired to our ship under my personal request,” replied Obi-Wan smoothly, “I think one Jedi assisting me is quite enough don’t you think?”

His highness chuckled softly and the dozen other Uzo in the hall followed his lead.

“Et quod nomen est tibi, puer?”

“He asks your name,”

Obi-Wan bowed low, sweeping his arm across his face. When he rose, there were loose strands of ginger hair tickling his cheeks that Anakin just ached to brush out of the way. He clenched his teeth and faced the front. He may distrust these guys, but their sources from the council indicated the separatists may try to use their system as a new droid factory for the war. It was crucial they contacted the government first, as the race was rumoured to be sympathetic to the separatist cause, being an independent system themselves.

Obi-Wan replied after a brief pause to think, “You may call me Senatus,”

Now it was Anakin’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Kind of cocky to call himself the resolution in the Uzo’s own language, but perhaps that was the angle they were playing. He raised his concerns within the force, but Obi-Wan’s side of their bond stayed silent.

“Ut sisterent sententiam tuam cognoscere, Senatus.”

“He is willing to listen to listen to your case,” said C3PO

“Wonderful.” Said Obi-Wan.

They were back on the ship, heading at lightspeed in the direction of Coruscant. C3P0 had been sent to the hanger by Anakin to recalibrate his systems; he had still not forgiven the droid for sweeping over the more unpleasant comments of the Uzo. Obi-Wan, with his brilliance, had managed to convince the planet to give the republic a shot, but the truce was still shaky. However, there was nothing further the two of them could do to push their point for the meanwhile, not until both the council and the senate had heard their report, after all, this was a political matter.

“Why would they imply that _we_ keep slaves, Obi-Wan? The Jedi are a just and fair order, surely the Uzo can’t be so misguided!”

Obi-Wan sighed thoughtfully, running his hand over a chin. In the half an hour they had been travelling, he’d done it several times, paused, frowned, then tucked his hand away.

“Perhaps,” he said, “Perhaps not. However, the Uzo have always been mistrustful of us, it’s part of the reason we have very little to do with them, their views and opinions of the force differ so radically from our own.”

“In what way?” asked Anakin, instantly curious. It was something never readily discussed back at the temple. When he had been young, other force orders had been mentioned in passing, but it was not a subject that had ever been fully covered.

“Well, for one, they don’t differentiate between the light and dark side of the force…”

“What? That’s impossible.”

Obi-Wan gave him a look. It was significantly less effective when Obi-Wan appeared scarcely older than himself and was still dressed in pretty black clothes, which were slightly transparent Anakin was now realising.

“Did the council provide you with that outfit?” he said, changing the subject.

Another look: with all the effectiveness of a kitten trying to look mad. He could feel himself starting to chuckle.

“I can imagine it now,” he continued, “Windu in the couture section of coruscant, browsing through men’s high fashion,”

At this point, Obi-Wan opened up his comm pad and started pretending to read. Ha. As if.

“Do you think he picked up that top, that _practically see-though top,_ and thought. Hmmm… general Kenobi will look stunning in this-”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Anakin! Stop! I bought it myself after the council suggested we may need to go undercover.”

Oh. Anakin couldn’t help himself, he stepped forward, right into Obi-Wan’s space and tucked his finger under the v-cut neckline of the sheer top, feeling the silk slip against his skin.

“You chose this yourself?” he murmured. There was something insanely appealing about Obi-Wan picking out something like this to wear. Something this… provocative. Obi-Wan’s throat bobbed, and he choaked out a hoarse ‘of course’. Anakin let his finger slip a little further down, lightly brushing against Obi-Wan’s chest, then instantly pulling back, only to bring his other hand, his mechanic one, up behind his master to play with the hem of the shirt, just above his waist.

“You have great taste, master.”

“You needn’t call me that anymore,” said Obi-Wan, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No? Then what would you prefer?” Anakin said. With him standing, and Obi-Wan still sitting down, comm pad loosely clasped in his hands, he seemed to tower over him even more so than he usually did. From this angle, with Obi-Wan’s face pointed up towards the light, he could clearly see the flush on his pale cheeks and his wide, dark eyes fixed on Anakin’s. Anakin was filled with a flash of contentment and possessiveness. _He_ had done this. _He’d_ rattled Obi-Wan so much that the man was speechless, mouth parted slightly in a way _so_ suggestive. Kriff, Anakin bet he didn’t even know he was doing it.

On that note, what in Hutt’s name was he doing?

His instincts screamed to jump back immediately but instead of stumbling backwards awkwardly, Anakin tried to make it look like a natural retreat, but ended up doing some kind of robot-dance in reverse and blurting out:

“What’s your skincare routine!”

“What?”

“You must moisturise,” Anakin scrambled for a handhold, “You don’t look a day over 20 without the beard,”

Obi-Wan stood up, suddenly looking uncomfortable and closed off.

“Yes, that’s somewhat the point Anakin,” he said “You think anyone would take me seriously if I looked like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like this, Anakin!” Obi-Wan snapped “Why do you think I grew a beard when I took you on in the first place?!”

Anakin froze, alarmed at the sudden outburst. Obi-Wan had never reached this level of frustration before with so little done on his own part. He’d obviously hit a nerve he didn’t know existed. Hell, all he did was ask if he moisturised. Obi-Wan continued.

“Do you think the council believed I could raise a Padawan? I was 17!”

…

“Kriff. I shouldn’t have said that.”

_What._

Obi-Wan turned to head towards the door, moving with a purpose that gave away his desperation to escape.

“Master-!” Anakin moved without thinking, and grabbed Obi-Wan’s arm and spinning him to face him. The look on his face was cornered and wide eyed, the bleached whiteness of his cheeks a horrible contrast to the warm flush he’d been sporting mere moments ago.

“Master…” he repeated, “That would make you…what, 29 now?”

“28, in fact.”

“How… how did I not know?” Anakin could practically feel his thoughts realigning in his head. Memories adjusting to accommodate this new, mind-reeling information. His master had been _17_ when his own master had died. _17_ when he became the first jedi in forever to defeat a sith. Hells, he would have been even younger than Anakin when he was knighted, no wonder he’d appeared alarmed when Qui-Gon had said he was ready in front of the entire council.

Speaking of the council, they had told Anakin he had been the youngest knighted jedi ever, but that wasn’t true now was it? Obi-Wan had been knighted when he was _17._ He had been given a child to raise when he was 17 and that was ok?

He felt anger rise within him, bubbling to the surface as realisation after realisation came crashing down upon him. Anger at Qui-Gon for what he did to Obi-Wan. Anger at the council. Absolute rage on his master’s behalf. The arm gripping Obi-Wan’s forearm tightened.

“You shouldn’t have been my master,” he growled. He was going to find the people responsible for this and demand answers. He was going to bring down _Sith hells_ on the council.

As he stormed off the flight deck, heading towards his quarters to find his comm, he missed the soul crushed expression on Obi-Wan’s face.


	3. Chapter 3

Obi-Wan felt his heart crack as Anakin said the words.

_You shouldn’t have been my master._

They were the same words he told himself every day, the same thoughts the council had 12 years ago when he presented the then 9-year-old Anakin before them and swore he would train him; but to have his failures confirmed and vocalised by the one person that mattered? It felt like the final nail in his coffin.

He was never enough, too young, too inexperienced. Qui-Gon thought he was reckless and aggressive, the council only knighted him to save face; they couldn’t not when it was Obi-Wan who’d defeated Darth Maul.

Anakin was right to be angry. He’d gotten the short straw in all of this. He’d been denied the best master he could have gotten in Qui-Gon Jinn and been roped in with an inexperienced padawan instead. Obi-Wan had hoped up until this point that he might have been enough, but learning how underqualified Obi-Wan really was must have been the final stroke on Anakin’s patience.

When he was younger, and still training, Anakin used to complain constantly, gripe at Obi-Wan for being too restrictive, holding him back. It was all true. Once Anakin had begun to prove that he had the quick mind and abilities to become a Jedi, he should have passed his training onto an older jedi. After their initial misgivings, many masters and knights alike had quickly become enamoured with the bright young boy from the desert planet and would have gladly taken on the privilege of training him to become a man. Instead, Obi-Wan had been selfish and jealous, choosing to keep Anakin close to him, the one bit of bright-eyed wonder in his lonely and empty life. He couldn’t bring himself to lose another so soon after Qui-Gon. He supposed that made him a poor Jedi.

He slipped down into the pilot chair, watching the stars shine past as they hurtled through hyperspace with a numb kind of detachment.

What would Anakin do now? He was too late, the damage inflicted on him had been done. Anakin was a knight now despite Obi-Wan’s failures. Perhaps he would cease to associate with Obi-Wan any longer; the hurt at his lies too great to forgive.

He felt stupid. Stupid and young and still dressed in that ridiculous outfit he’d purchased back in Coruscant so long ago now. He hadn’t even thought about it at the time. He liked the feel of the fabric between his fingers, and it wasn’t often his allowance permitted such an expense. The jedi, after all, didn’t allow possessions.

As he caught sight of himself in the glass of the cockpit, he thought he looked ridiculous. His hair was mussed, his face still round and childish, despite his 28 years of age, and the black fabric just made him look pasty and small.

He got up again carefully, and making sure to double check the coordinates of the hyperspace route before he left, made his way back to his small cupboard of a bedroom.

He considered ripping the fabric off him, but ultimately decided that the clothes had done no wrong themselves, so took them off carefully, folded them into the back of his small set off drawers and pulled on a loose tunic and brown trousers instead. Then he re-went over the mission brief, adding in C3PO’s translations post-mission, and combed back his hair. It was at this point he realised he was crying.

* * *

“This is Anakin Skywalker, come in!”

“Master Windu, what is your report?”

“I wish to speak to the council,” growled Anakin into his comm, “I have some questions.”

Windu looked off to the side, face pulled into his permanent scowl as if he was talking to someone he found particularly unpleasant. Anakin realised he must be in the council session right now. It didn’t matter. This couldn’t wait.

“You may have questions, Knight Skywalker,” Windu said with exasperation, “But unless they are pertaining to an emergency, they can wait until you arrive back on Coruscant. We are in session.”

“To hells with your session,” snapped Anakin, and he thought he heard a gasp though the radio, “Why am I only now learning that Obi-Wan is only Kriffing _28_ years old!”

There was absolute silence, both in Anakin’s bunk and the council room a million miles away on Coruscant. Good. He’d stunned them. After a tense pause, that seemed to last a millennium, there was a tap, tap, tap as Yoda hobbled into view of the hologram.

“Hmm…” he said “A mutual decision, many years ago, this was.”

“What do you mean” Anakin gushed. He had too many questions about the whole situation. Why was Obi-Wan treated so badly? No 17 year old boy wanted to take on and raise a child! What decision was made? Why?

“With all due respect,” interrupted Windu, “This was sealed information, and you have no business of-“

“With all due respect, _master,_ that’s bantha shit!”

“Watch yourself Skywalker!”

“It IS my business! In what system would it not be!?” Anakin could feel himself raising his voice, and despite knowing deep down that this couldn’t end well for him, he couldn’t help himself. “You chose to hold a 17 year old _child_ responsible for raising another kid, you scorned, _me,_ and don’t think for a second I don’t know about what the rest of the temple said about _Obi-Wan_! You ABANDONED HIM!”

There was a crash as the objects he’d been levitating clattered to the floor.

“Misguided, perhaps… we were. Abandoned him, we did not.”

It was at this moment that Shaak Ti stepped into view, and took the comm gently from where it was being held by master Yoda.

“Anakin,” she said, and Anakin softened slightly, perhaps calmed by her genuine nature. “There have been many wrongs in Master Obi-Wan’s past, but also many careful decisions. It has been unfair, perhaps, to keep this from you, but I trust you will hear out the council in person once you arrive back on Coruscant?”

He considered this, and hummed low, Shaak Ti seemed to take this as an agreement as she said “Thank you,” and hung up.

Perhaps that was for the best. Who knows what he might have done or said had Yoda, or hells forbid Windu, pushed in to speak again.

Anakin was by no means calmed, however. He had been promised an explanation, but still had no answers. Yet in the sudden quiet of his room, he could stop for a moment and think.

In his mind, Obi-Wan had been wronged. Anakin understood that his master felt committed to training him, since it had been Qui-Gon’s dying wish, and although Anakin when he was young held much resentment over this fact, believing that Obi-Wan never truly cared for him, and would only train him for the sake of a dead man, he had always believed that when it came down to it, that had been Obi-Wan’s _adult_ choice to make.

But Obi-Wan had been a _child himself_ , recently traumatised by watching the murder of his father-figure, and the council had let him take on the responsibility of another life. And being Obi-Wan, he had raised Anakin perfectly. But at what cost to himself?

Anakin could never have wished for a more understanding or patient master, and knowing now that he had been so young when he achieved it all just awarded him greater respect. But Anakin knew what a toll loss took on someone. They were at war, and he knew personally that he threw himself into work to cope with the grief of so many good men dying daily. With that in mind, was it really Obi-Wan’s sane and mature choice to train him? Surely the council had a responsibility to care for their own; see the struggle Obi-Wan must have been fighting through and come up with a solution!

He guessed their solution was to give Obi-Wan a kid to distract him.

* * *

It was hours later when Anakin knocked firmly on his door. Obi-Wan had long stopped his tears, which were now dried up on tissues in the incinerator. He let the durasteel doors slide open, and watched as his former friend stood silhouetted against the light from the hallway, posture tense and on edge. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but straighten up in response.

“I’m going to fix this.” Said Anakin.

Obi-Wan’s heart sank.


	4. Chapter 4

Anakin stepped slowly into his room, letting the door slide back shut behind him, for once his force signature radiated nothing but carefully projected stillness, the usual swirl and chaos of his tumultuous emotions held back behind tight shields.

“If I can assist in any way,” Obi-Wan began, before he was cut off sharply by Anakin’s:

“No.”

“Then… as you wish…”

He tore his eyes away from Anakin’s stony face, letting his eyes fall on the metal wall behind, unable to let his former padawan witness his heart crumble apart bit by bit in front of him. What would he feel if Obi-Wan let him see? Pity?

Even pity would be better than raw disgust, with the life Obi-Wan had so selfishly denied him.

“You’ve changed your clothes back,” Anakin pointed out. He moved closer, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but Obi-Wan flinched minutely, causing the hovering hand to touch nothing but air.

“It felt inappropriate to keep them on now the mission is on hold.”

“Why?” said Anakin, “It’s just you and me.” Emotions were now beginning to leak through their force-bond and Obi-Wan thought he felt a hint of confusion. “And C3PO of course, but he’s down in the hanger.”

“Yes, well,” said Obi-Wan stiffly, “I’m much more comfortable like this anyway.

He turned to catch Anakin’s gaze briefly and saw him watching him closely. With a cautious prod down their bond, he perched himself on the edge of the bed, as far as possible from Obi-Wan and opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry, master,”

“There is no need to apologise, Anakin, you are no longer my student… you can choose to seek justice without my consent. In fact, I believe it best you do.”

“I’m grateful for your approval of this. I thought you would be more… dismissive.”

Obi-Wan felt a stab though his chest at the reminder of another of his down-comings. He had been dismissive in the past, and it had never ended well for Anakin.

“The time has long gone for dismissiveness in this matter,” he replied quietly, “It was selfish of me to keep this from you, and I hope you can find peace in yourself over the matter.”

“Too hell with peace, Obi-Wan!” exclaimed Anakin without warning. Obi-Wan was punched with, rather than felt, a force of rage so swift it almost knocked him backwards. His breath caught in his throat, Anakin’s power over the force consuming and powerful, literally drawing the air out his body. He gripped the bed frame, struggling with something, _anything,_ to say to calm the tornado of emotions pressing down on the small room.

“You’re right.” Obi-Wan choked out. And the force stilled.

“I am?”

“You have every right to be resentful of me, I lied to you. I kept secrets from you. I was too immature to train you.”

Obi-Wan fixed his eyes on the wall as the words he judged himself with every waking minute came tumbling out for the first time. They were selfish things to say, to be so self-centred that all he could let out was I; but if there was a way his insecurities could be used for good, it would be to pacify Anakin.

The room was so hushed Obi-Wan thought Anakin had left in his minute of numbness, but when he turned, he was met with Anakin’s blank face stuck gaping at him.

“Resent you?” whispered Anakin, eyes wide and shocked. “How could you ever think…”

Anakin hesitated, then shuffled closer across the mattress. Obi-Wan unclenched his hands, folding them politely into his lap.

“I could never resent you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan blinked. Well, this was a change of pace.

There was a soft thump, and Obi-Wan found himself engulfed in a hug. Anakin’s arms were wrapped up and over his shoulders, like a warm Wookie covering him with its huge paws. Nervously, he lifted his own arms up and cautiously patted Anakin on the back, worried that this piece of news had been the straw that finally broke the bantha’s back. Making to move away, he attempted to withdraw his head, but realised that Anakin wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon so relaxed slightly into his embrace. He smelt clean, which was unusual in this stage of war, where they were so often without facilities or showers for many weeks, but still, so simply Anakin, that it relaxed him immensely, despite his mind still trying to wrap itself around what on earth was going on.

“I’m not mad at you,” mumbled Anakin into his shoulder, and Obi-Wan awkwardly petted Anakin’s blond curls. “I’m mad at the council, for putting so much on you when you were so young.”

“But-” Obi-Wan pulled back, objecting vehemently, “You should be furious, you could have had a better master, you-”

“What are you talking about, Obi-Wan?” Anakin pushed back, and looked into his eyes, holding him fixed at arm’s length. “You’re the best teacher I could have asked for! Do you think any other of those Kriffing nerf herders-“

“Anakin!”

“-would have put up with me when I kriffed up the electrical system?”

“Well, exusing your language I suppose… well.” Obi-Wan thought about it. “No. But my leniency was another reason the council disapproved of my teaching methods.”

“Like I said,” scowled Anakin, “Kriffing nerf herders.”

They sat there a while. Impossibly close, yet so far away. Obi-Wan’s mind was still reeling, and Anakin looked deeply lost in bad-tempered thoughts which were, apparently, not aimed at him.

“That was why you looked so…” muttered Anakin. Then:

“You’re only seven years older than me!” he accused, pointing.

Obi-Wan frowned.

“More like 7 and a half. Almost eight if you round it.”

“You let me believe you were in your late thirties! And the robes! Were the robes intentional too?”

“The robes?” asked Obi-Wan stumped. “If you’re implying that I intentionally wear clothing then, I agree, I do.”

“No,” said Anakin, flapping his arms, “You know, master. Wow, it feels weird saying that knowing you’re practically my age… The whole… thing you have going,”

“Firstly, I am certainly not almost the same age. I am close to a decade older than you-“

“7 years,”

“ _8_ years, and I am sure I have no idea what you mean.”

Suddenly Anakin looked uncomfortable.

“It’s just,” he offered, awkward in his hand gestures, “I always thought, not that I, you know, _thought_ about it, but, that you were sort of…”

Now Obi-Wan was utterly lost. He’d started this conversation with the belief he was to be cut off from his best friend’s life forever, which led to passionate exclamations and clumsy hugs, and now Anakin was turning red and gesturing wildly at his mid-section. He supposed he’d had more than enough years to get used to it. This was Anakin after all, and rapid emotional switches were a kind of signature move for him.

“Wait,” stuttered Obi-Wan with horrified realisation, “You thought I was a woman?”

Anakin froze from where Obi-Wan swore he had just been indicating towards his definitely manly genitals.

“No I thought you were fat!”

“Well I’m glad that I don’t have to go over how anatomy works with you Anakin- wait. What?”

“Not like-! Obviously not fat, fat, but kind of… chubby?”

If Obi-Wan woke up now and found out he was having some kind of bizarre nightmare, complete with abandonment issues and accusations of his weight, he wouldn’t be too surprised. Unfortunately, this seemed to be very, very real.

“I get it now though,” continued Anakin, digging himself further into his own grave. “It was part of the ruse. To keep your age?”

“I dread asking, but what was?”

“All the robes, the way you layer them all on top of each other and never take them off,”

“And you thought I did that because I was… overweight?”

“I obviously don’t think that now,” muttered Anakin.

Obi-Wan looked down at himself, draped in tan and brown. Half an hour ago he’d also acquired a course blanket from the cupboard. It had been wrapped round his shoulders when Anakin had first burst in, but was now draped loosely across his lap and around his hips. He honestly hadn’t ever thought much about the clothes he wore, apart from that they kept him warm, and the style reminded him of Qui-Gon. Trying to see himself from Anakin’s perspective, he drew a blank.

“I don’t wear these clothes for any… deceitful purposes,” he said slowly, “They keep me warm, I suppose.” He fingered the edge of the blanket, unconsciously tugging it tighter around him.

Anakin was blushing.

“I’ll turn the heating up,” Anakin said finally, in an uncharacteristically thoughtful way. “We’ll be in Coruscant in a few hours, you should sleep while you can,”

Obi-Wan wanted to argue. He wasn’t sure what about, but his mind was emotionally drained and so mixed up with the flurry of emotions and secrets let out in the last few hours that the conversation felt unfinished somehow. But he didn’t know what to say to keep Anakin from leaving him, unless…

“Why did you say I shouldn’t have been your master?”

Spinning round in the doorway, Anakin gaped at him with wide, blue eyes;

“Shit, Obi-Wan,” he spluttered, and for once he looked genuinely apologetic for something, an expression Obi-Wan rarely saw, “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant you shouldn’t have _had_ to be my master. I couldn’t have asked for a better tutor, but you shouldn’t have had to put up with me. Not so young. It shouldn’t have fallen on you. It wasn’t fair.”

As those kind words washed over him, Obi-Wan let slip a sob, and Anakin rushed forward again, hands flying in a flurry as he instinctively checked for non-existent wounds, when it was just Obi-Wan’s tired mind deflating in utter relief.

“Obi-Wan? Did I say something?”

“I’m fine, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said weakly, using the blanket to rub his face “I’m just… worn out. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” replied Anakin with a frown, “I’ll get you some water, R2 can run the coordinates.”

But Anakin never went to get water, he sat there peacefully, stiller than Obi-Wan had ever seen him remain for so long, until Obi-Wan lay back and drifted off to sleep. It felt like an unspoken agreement between them, and if Anakin was momentarily comforted by his presence, who was he to deny the peace he felt himself in return. Slumber came to him more effortlessly than usual; perhaps it was the mental stress finally leaving his body, or the tears that he’d shed, but he didn’t question it. He just hoped Anakin would stay close, and that his force presence, so brilliant and golden, continued to envelope him, beating in time with his heart, gently thrumming. Quiet. Holding him. Peaceful…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this far: I've never had this much appreciation on a story before, I suppose because I'm usually more interested in reading them than writing!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a filler but oh well

Despite what some members of the Jedi Council believed, Anakin could admit when he’d made a mistake, and letting Obi-Wan believe he hated him had been a big one. Obi-Wan had looked so small, and fragile, clean shaven as he was, wrapped in loose blankets on his bed, and Anakin wasn’t that stupid; he had seen the red-rimmed eyes and pale face. He hadn’t known why at first, but he knew there had been tears. Realising he had been the one to cause them was like a blaster bolt to the chest. Obi-Wan was one of the most important people in his life, and Anakin would be loath to lose him over something as ridiculous as a misunderstanding of all things.

Especially now. Theoretically, he knew Obi-Wan was still over 7 years older than him, but the very recent subtraction of almost a decade in his mind filled him with sudden over-protectiveness for the other young man. He offered to get Obi-Wan some water but seeing the exhausted and confused expression Obi-Wan’s face stalled him. He didn’t want to leave the other man, so he just sat patiently beside him, until after a long while, Obi-Wan settled back onto the mattress, and gradually, gradually drifted to sleep.

Anakin stayed there until he was certain the force swilling around the room was completely at peace, and there were no bad dreams or nightmares lurked at the edge of Obi-Wan’s consciousness, then he slipped out.

In the cockpit, he called to R2, to make sure everything was in order, and checked the core-world time. He needn’t have bothered; he’d made so many slight adjustments to his droid over the years that the coordination plotting was perfect. So, leaving R2 to it, he slipped into the tiny storage bay and poured a glass of water, cranked the heating system up a couple of notches, then headed out. Stopped. Turned round, and went back for an extra blanket.

He found Obi-Wan curled up in the corner of the bed, dead to the universe and taking up barely a third of his allotted space. Anakin had read somewhere once that people who curled up when they slept tended to be shy, or overthinkers. He hadn’t ever thought his old master was the shy type, but an over-thinker? Maybe there was some truth in trashy holo-net articles. Regardless, he draped the blanket over his sleeping figure and quietly placed the glass of water by his bed.

In doing so, he noticed the bareness of the room, nothing personal on any of the shelves and bedside table complete empty aside from the standard issue light for reading. He supposed that was how it should be, after all, Jedi were discouraged from coveting possessions, and this ship was only on loan for them for this mission. Nethertheless, Anakin tended to bring a few personal things with him, when he was confident they wouldn’t immediately get ruined in battle, and his bay currently had a pouch with some old padawan beads and trinkets and metal to fiddle with in his down time. He knew for a fact that even Kit Fisto kept weird slimy tube things in his room. It seemed lonely in here. However, at second glance, he noticed something tucked away on the top shelf, he reached out for it, and to his surprise, found the outfit Obi-Wan had worn for the mission. It was carefully folded, in a prestigious way only Obi-Wan could achieve; all the same, Anakin was surprised to find it here at all; Obi-Wan had seemed so on edge earlier, he’d assumed it ended up in the incinerator. But here it was.

The cloth was so slippery it unfolded instantly in his hands, and Anakin cursed slightly as he’d never be able to get it back the same way. Tidiness wasn’t a skill of his. He let it slip around in his hands, savouring the almost ethereal sensations of the fabric. It must have been expensive. How many credits would something like this go for in the mid-rim? Maybe the council really did fund it… and yet, there was something that almost seemed personal about the simple item of clothing. Obi-Wan said he had picked it out himself, so what made him choose this piece specifically?

Anakin’s mind began to wander, and memories of Obi-Wan draped in fine, sheer silk entered his mind. The way the black fabric had clung to his shoulders and upper arms had been intoxicating, and the suggestion of flesh beneath the fabric, shifting with every move he made, just tantalising hints of what was beneath. If it had just been the two of them, when Obi-Wan was in his element, flirting and bargaining with the Uzo, but without the Uzo. Hmm… yes. And Anakin could tilt Obi-Wan’s head upwards and look down at him; the lighting had been stunning, and- This was getting out of hand, he needed to stop.

He had no idea how to correctly fold the shirt, and any attempt would only make it look as though someone had been through his things… thing; so, Anakin let it drop on the floor by the foot of the shelf. If asked, he could always say there had been some turbulence coming out of hyperspace. It felt bad, the disrespect he was giving Obi-Wan’s only personal item, but he didn’t know what else to do, so he left hurriedly, and tried to stifle the slowly rising problem of his new-found attraction to Obi-Wan.

* * *

Obi-Wan woke up wanting to go back to sleep. Which either meant he was heavily drugged and potentially kidnapped, or he’d slept to long. There was no humming of the engines, but when he blearily cracked an eye open, it was evidently a republic standard bunk, so he wondered what he was doing lying down in a stationary ship. He opened his mind to the force and let it spread in tendrils throughout the air around him and through his consciousness. With no immediate threats making themselves known, he wrapped the force back around him and threw on his outer tunic, boots and a cloak, hooking his lightsabre to his side.

Gingerly, he opened the door, looking both ways, and spotted a figure slumped in the corner, oil and grease rubbed into every crevasse of their tunic and nuts, bolts and wires scattered like an explosion around them.

“Anakin?” he enquired, bewildered.

“Hmph? Yeah?” Anakin snorted, jolting awake. There was drool crawling out the corner of his mouth.

“Charming,” said Obi-Wan, relaxing minutely, “But what are we doing? The ship isn’t moving and you’re asleep in the corridor, did we get hit?”

“Hit?” repeated Anakin stupidly. “Who?”

“Us?”

“We hit who?”

“No, Anakin, we- “Obi-Wan sighed, “Never mind. Where are we? If we can figure that out, we can leave again.”

“Not a problem, Obi,” drawled Anakin with a sleepy smirk gracing his features, ah, the _nerve_ of him. “We’re on Coruscant. I parked right at the back so no-one would see our ship.”

“You parked right at the back so no-one would see our- Anakin! Why in the galaxy would you do such a thing? What time is it? I thought we had a meeting scheduled with the council to go over the mission!”

At the mention of the council, Anakin perked up, and got to his feet, ineffectively trying to wipe some of the engine grease off his hands and face.

“We do have a meeting with the council, master,” glowered Anakin, “But it’s not about the mission…”

Well, that sounded fairly ominous. If Anakin had planned some hair-brained scheme, then Obi-Wan was certainly entitled to know about it before the session went to Bantha-shit and Windu was chucked out a window.

“Don’t worry about it, Obi-Wan,” said Anakin, noticing his worried expression, “You can chat about the mission after I’ve spoken to them. I have some questions first.”

If that was the case, then Obi-Wan supposed he could do nothing but hope Anakin’s meeting didn’t end in his immediate disqualification from the order. However, …

“You still haven’t answered my previous question,” returned Obi-Wan “If we have meetings with the council, why are we hiding from them at the back of the hanger?”

At this, Anakin looked kind of sheepish, “Well, I thought you could do with a rest, since you only fell asleep half an hour before we landed, and I was going to wait for just a couple of hours before waking you, but I guess… I fell asleep too?”

“Well…” said Obi-Wan, strangely touched, yet also cross that his time had been wasted with sleep, “I suppose it was necessary if we both passed out for so long.”

Anakin nodded in agreement, then looked down at his mechanical hand and scoffed.

“Urgh,” he said, “The oil’s all got into my hand joints, it’s gonna take forever to clean this out!”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have fallen asleep covered in oil, and if I don’t know what time it is and you’ve been asleep, who knows how late we are!”

“What, it’s not as if we had a scheduled time to be there,”

Obi-Wan snapped his neck round to gawk at Anakin. He couldn’t be serious?

“Is that truly what you’ve gone all these years believing?!” Obi-Wan moved to rub his hand through his beard and became possibly even more frustrated when he recalled it was gone, “We _always_ have a time slot _, Anakin.”_

“Well excuse me for not knowing!” snapped Anakin. Moving in unison around each other, they snatched their comms and cloaks, Anakin sweeping his bolts and tools into a makeshift sack and speedily strapping it to his belt. “It’s not as if we’re ever on time anyway,”

“No thanks to your reckless behaviour. I’ll have you know I was the very model of punctuality before you started dragging your feet on missions,”

They retrieved C3PO, who was in a right tiff, from the hanger, and left the ship to the shadows.

“R2!” called Anakin, and the little droid activated his blasters and lowered himself out of the shuttle, then, turning to Obi-Wan, “I have only ever been a delight on missions, master.”

With a shake of his head, Obi-Wan set off towards the council chambers at a brisk pace, Anakin, R2, then C3PO following behind him like a line of little, lost ducklings.


End file.
